GLADYS JACKSON 

Handsomest Boy

Noisiest Girl 

Here's to our happy graduates, noble men and true. 
I think they are examples for such as me and you.

"Grif" Ratcliffe was a singer and a football player too;
He learned to kick so awful hard they had to let him through.

When Paschall his diploma got, the audience they looked shocked
And someone yelled, "For goodness sake, who left the gates unlocked?"

Westney, our loyal Ty Cobb, took a bat and straight
Knocked his average up so high he had to graduate.

Bishop played the Piccolo, fine I have no doubt;
But they gave him his diploma to make him cut it out.

Heintze got his "sheepskin" and went down to the bay, 
Bought a boat named Gladys and quickly sailed away.

Sig. Ertner smokes tobacco, (it seems to be his fate);
Since he can't get by with that out here, they let him graduate.

George Cannon is a pool shark; he asks everyone to shoot;
He won his diploma and fourteen dollars to boot.

Pinsky will be a doctor; he loves to feel the bones;
He whispered seven quickly and fled the Senior Zones.

James Ware, our local tall man, studied, argued and pled, 
Until he made the highest marks and came out way ahead.

"Plank" Plaskett is a noble man, I know it's true; and yet 
He won his "dip" by looking wise and being teacher's pet.

McAdams studied hard, they say, and yet it should be stated 
He typewrites for the teachers; that's why he graduated.

"Ted" Stewart is our champion athlete: I swear that this is true, 
But now since he has left the school, what will she ever do?

DeMoyer is a husky lad; alas, we sob to state
That fear won't let us tell you how he did graduate.

Jack Wille, a noble youth, to judge from your sweet looks,
The knowledge by which you graduate, was never learned in books.

Kressel plays a violin, and to get rid of the same,
The teachers grabbed his sheepskin and quickly wrote his name.

Fred Outcalt turns a dumbbell in a way to make one fear.
So the teachers let him graduate to make it safe out here.

O'Brien is our daffodil, our peerless Irish rose,
He ran a race with flunking and won out by a nose.

Ed. Wilson is a doctor, and once he let it slip
He doctored up his daily grades; that's why he won his "dip."

Liberman says he'll graduate, but here's where we must holler, 
If credits cost five cents apiece, he'll have to spend a dollar.

I'm going to tell about Bill King, but don't you go and blow it,
He won his "dip" by simple bluff, but the teachers do not know it.

Gerike was on our track team, as agile as a cat,
He got his "dip" and ran a mile in just one minute flat.

Ed Simmons will be a lawyer; he must have argued fine
When he got his diploma and joined our happy line.

This is the truth about some of the boys, 
Who danced the diploma step.
They belong to the 1919 Class,
The Class with the "Pep" and "Rep."

I used to wonder why Seniors complained of having so little time for amusements or even for their studies. Now, alas, I know only too well, for the Deluge seems to have descended upon me.

Even in the Fall I found it hard work to go out for hockey two days a week, attend the "movies" another day, read current magazines and books, and then find time for the study of five lessons a day. But after Christmas I think it was that the real rush began. Examinations loomed up on the horizon with ominous rumblings for the poor souls who were plugging away at that "bete-noire" physics.

As far as I was concerned, the physics examination was a battle royal, on account of which I lost four pounds in weight. Luckily we are not required to take such a test every day, or I would soon be a pale shade ready for Orcus.

Now it is almost time for our final examinations. But before they can take place, we must undergo five preliminary trials, our regular tests. Anyone who takes but four subjects a day and who enters into no activities at school, may easily sit back with folded hands and await the "Judgment Day." But ah me! those whose lot it is to participate in the Glee Club Concert and serve on School Annual and Class Day Com­mittees can appreciate the weariness to which I am succumbing.

The Glee Club is one of the chief causes of my relapse. If this seems incredible, try sitting down for a three-hour rehearsal, especially if you have already devoted two previous nights to lectures or something of that sort. Now, indeed, do I know why Saturday mornings were made. They were created in order that Seniors might recuperate after five days of strenuous action.

With only about nine or ten more recitation days left, I have to write a painstaking theme for Mr. Read, work on the Class Day program, finish five experiments in the time set aside for two, and attend five rehearsals. When I am to study, is the unsolvable mystery.

1 am so sleepy that everything seems to be going around in a whirl.

I no longer hear the announcements in the auditorium in the mornings. Like the dormouse, I only wake up when something extraordinary cuts the magnetic fields of force adjacent to my brains.

My hand is so numb my pen is slipping. I have forty lines of Vergil to prepare and an English theme to compose, but I'm too tired to write.